


Love Me Like There's No Tomorrow (because there won't be)

by Crackerjackz



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale almost admits he doesn't like Gabriel, Aziraphale and Crowley go for a drive, Backstory, Canon Related, Canon Universe, Crowley and Aziraphale acting married, Crowley's Bad Driving (Good Omens), Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Driving, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Inspired by Music, Listening to Music, M/M, Queen - Freeform, The Bentley Ships It (Good Omens), The Sound of Music References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-28 22:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21399568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crackerjackz/pseuds/Crackerjackz
Summary: After Aziraphale and Crowley fail to get answers from Mary Loquacious, they start the journey back to London. Crowley gets upset, the Bentley plays a new Queen song and they discuss the end of the world some more. You know, just a usual afternoon for an angel and demon couple who've been in love with each other for six thousand years. But this time, Aziraphale realizes maybe it's time to tell Crowley about something important, because he might not get another chance.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55





	Love Me Like There's No Tomorrow (because there won't be)

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to write this fic by the song "Love Me Like There's No Tomorrow," written by Freddie Mercury. It was released in 1985, so it's not a new song, but I discovered it a few weeks ago because a new animated video set to this song was released on September 5. It's sweet and I thought it was fitting for pre-apocalypse Aziraphale and Crowley, so I stayed up all last night writing. I like to think that the Bentley is somewhat sentient and plays "new" songs each time Crowley and Aziraphale reach a new stage in their relationship or have an important moment together. Enjoy!

“Well that was a complete and utter waste of time,” Crowley huffed, slamming the door as he slid into the Bentley’s driver seat.

“Not entirely.” Aziraphale tried to close the passenger door as gently as possible. Though on the inside the car was rather small, the dark interior and wide windows made it feel bigger than it was. He would never admit it to Crowley, but Aziraphale thought the Bentley’s design was actually quite stylish. He particularly liked the sienna brown leather seats, which had previously been black until Crowley replaced them in 1953.

“What do you mean, ‘not entirely?’ We have no idea where the Antichrist is, or even _who_ he is, and the apocalypse is days away!”

“I mean that we were right about something: there were two children. Warlock Dowling is not the Antichrist. We’re not completely incompetent.”

Crowley snorted. “Oh yes, losing the Antichrist is the very definition of being competent.” Classic Aziraphale, always looking for the positive in things, no matter how infinitesimal it was. Crowley stomped on the gas pedal, pushing it into the floor. The car shuddered once, then roared into action. The streets of Tadfield became a blur as the Bentley flew down the road at 90 miles per hour.

“Crowleeeeeeeeeeeey!”

“Something wrong, Angel?” Crowley couldn’t help but smirk.

“Could you ever _not_ try to get us discorporated each time you drive?!”

They were nearing 100 mph now and Aziraphale had to shut his eyes. There was absolutely no reason for any automobile to be this fast. Noticing the green tinge that had appeared on his companion’s face, Crowley eased up on the gas pedal and decreased their speed to a tame 70 mph.

Outside, the golden light of the evening was fading and dusk was overtaking the countryside. When he finally opened his eyes, Aziraphale saw that they had left suburbia and were now on the highway back to London. The sun was setting on wide open, idyllic green fields and small, picturesque villages with thatched-roof houses. The world looked like a postcard made real, or a story book. And there was still that overwhelming sense of love, of being loved.

Crowley saw and felt none of this, of course. He only saw two things: the road and the red filling his vision. He was angry, and also afraid, but he was trying to keep his fear at bay with anger. The car began to fill with the smell of burning, and in the rear view mirror, sparks could be seen trailing behind the car. Pretty soon smoke would start trailing from Crowley’s ears. Aziraphale knew it, he had seen it before. He frantically combed his mind for something he could say to distract Crowley, but came up with nothing. There was nothing notable passing by outside, and Armageddon was a much too volatile topic. Aziraphale glanced around the car for something, anything. The radio! With relief he jabbed the button, and a gentle melody began to hum through the speakers.

Really, he was lucky that he had pressed the right button. Aziraphale was terribly inept at using technology. Once he had tried to turn on the Bentley’s heating system (another one of Crowley’s modifications) and had ended up activating the windshield wipers instead. Crowley had been annoyed, but secretly found it endearing. The one good thing about the rise of technology and the internet was online sales. It meant that less and less people were trying to buy Aziraphale’s books, even though, as one frustratingly determined customer had put it, it was destroying the economy. Aziraphale wasn’t really interested in the economy, but he tried to care about it for the humans’ sake.

“Love me like there’s no tomorrow,” the radio crooned. “Hold me in your arms, tell me you mean it.”

“This is a new one,” Crowley grunted.

“Is it?”

“Yeah. Same bloody band though.”

“Oh.”

“I imagine it must be tiresome having to listen to the same songs over and over again.” Aziraphale cautiously attempted to keep the conversation going.

“Well, the music’s not bad, I just wish it would play something…different.”

“What was that you were saying earlier about ‘our side has all the best musicians?’” Aziraphale teased.

Crowley groaned. “Don’t you start. Just because the stupid car only plays one band doesn’t mean we don’t have plenty of good musicans in hell.”

“Going to have a victory concert after your side wins the war, hmm?”

“Only your side would do something so self-important. I mean, what would they even they even play?”

“Probably the ‘Hallelujah chorus’,” Aziraphale suggested.

“That’s right, I keep forgetting your side has got Handel. ”

“I do too, most of the time.”

“That makes three first-rate composers for heaven. But I still hate that song.”

“Yes. I know.” Aziraphale didn’t hate the “Hallelujah Chorus” as much as Crowley did, but he had to admit that it was awfully repetitive.

“The seas turning to bouibaillse, meteors flattening the gorillas, and the glorious music of the angels singing their own praises,” Crowley declared sarcastically. “What a way for the world to end.”

“What a way,” Aziraphale sighed.

Another silence overtook them, and Aziraphale took the opportunity to look out the window again. It was dark now, and they winding their way through a forest of tall, skinny trees. Crowley was driving 55 miles an hour, though this was still much too fast for Aziraphale’s taste.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Crowley asked abruptly. This was a question that had been on his mind ever since they had left the former-convent-turned-paintball-course.

“I have no idea.” Aziraphale answered truthfully.

“But you always have the answers.”

“My dear, I don’t just pull them out of thin air. I have to wait for them to come to me.”

“We can’t afford to waste more time just waiting around for the solution. Something has to be done now!”

“I want to stop the world from ending as much as you do. But for now, I don’t think there’s anything we can do.”

“You’re no help,” Crowley snarled.

Aziraphale, hurt, fell silent and looked down at his lap, where his hands were folded together neatly. Crowley felt ashamed, the heat of anger leaving him.

“I’m sorry, Angel, I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s fine.” Aziraphale was still looking at his lap.

“This is our last goodbye, and very soon it will be over, but today just love me like there’s no tomorrow,” Freddie Mercury sang through the darkness and the quiet.

Perhaps it would be their last goodbye. With the apocalypse coming, who knew when they would be able to see each other again. Aziraphale was aware of something, some thought that he wanted to share with Crowley before it was too late. The feeling was very familiar, one felt many times in the past, and this time it reminded Aziraphale of one March day in 1965. He and Crowley has both attended the premiere of the new film _The Sound of Music_. The movie was a project of Gabriel’s, Aziraphale’s heavenly supervisor, who was quite pleased with himself. In particular Gabriel was proud of “Climb Every Mountain.” For his part, Crowley had exerted his demonic influence to make the movie an interminable three hours long, though he had hardly needed to, with all the material Gabriel wanted to add. Aware of this, Aziraphale had helpfully inserted an intermission so as to not make the film unbearable to sit through. When the movie played for the first time, Crowley and Aziraphale sat side by side, experiencing everything together. In that dark movie theatre, illuminated only by the glow of the giant screen, they felt safe and cozy, surrounded by goodwill. When “Something Good” began to play in Act 2, a strange feeling overtook Aziraphale. He wanted to hold Crowley’s hand, to thread his fingers through Crowley’s, to show him that he was there for him. It should have been easy to reach out, but Aziraphale felt paralyzed. There were so many reasons why they couldn’t be together. They were an angel and a demon, on opposite sides, too different, and too dangerous together. He felt the urge again when Crowley tensed up during the scene where the Nazis were looking for the Von Trapp family in the graveyard. But Aziraphale did not reach out. He was too afraid of being seen, of being judged, of destroying what he and Crowley already had. He came away from the movie feeling guilty, which ruined it for him. That, and it reminded him of Gabriel. Because when it came down to it, he really, really disliked- no, he couldn’t say it.

But now Aziraphale knew what he had been feeling that night and what it was he was feeling now.

“I love you.” Three simple words, and yet they were so hard to articulate. But he had to say them. This could be his last chance. Aziraphale swallowed, feeling a block of lead form in his throat.

“Crowley, I have something to tell you. It’s important.”

“Yes, Angel?” Crowley’s yellow eyes peered over at Aziraphale curiously through his dark tinted sunglasses.

“Well, um, I-” Crowley was distracted, looking at Aziraphale, but Aziraphale saw movement in the Bentley’s headlights.

“Watch out!” Aziraphale screamed. Crowley slammed on the brakes and brought the car to a screeching halt, but not before they collided with something solid and heard the loud crunch of metal.

“Jes-Satan!” Crowley swore.

That’s not a word, Crowley,” Aziraphale scolded.

“We just crashed and you want to give me a lecture about proper grammar?!”

“No, you’re quite right,” Aziraphale agreed, clambering out of the car as fast as he could.

“Goodness gracious! You hit someone!”

“Hhhhhh…” said Anathema Device. _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch_, felt similarly, but being a book and therefore an inanimate object with neither a mouth or vocal cords, it could not express this verbally.

The answers that Aziraphale and Crowley had been waiting for had arrived, but any declarations of love were going to have to rest for a while longer.


End file.
